


walking out into the dark

by belovedmuerto



Series: in a cabin in the woods [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Idiots, Idiots in Love, M/M, and making themselves miserable, both trying to take better care of the other than themselves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8424220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: Bucky takes Steve back to New York, because he thinks that's what Steve needs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> OK first things first: this isn't finished. It's not gonna be. I've pretty much given up the ghost. But. It fits into this world I've been thinking about writing another fic in, so I figured I'd post it anyhow. I'm going to post a few unfinished things, just to clear out the gdocs a bit. 
> 
> Second, a word of warning that there is a bit of dissociation at the beginning of this, just so you know. In case that's a thing you need to watch out for to take care of yourself. If you have any questions, feel free to comment here or get in touch with me over on [tumblr](http://www.belovedmuerto.tumblr.com/ask) and I'll answer them as best I can.
> 
> Third: enjoy!

Bucky wakes up alone in their bed, in the dim light of early dawn. It’s not the emptiness of the bed beside him that disquiets him; that’s not unusual at all. Steve still jogs, more mornings than not. It’s a habit that he can’t seem to break. Bucky’s pretty sure he doesn’t really want to. The serum gave him an overabundance of energy, and that’s one way he bleeds some of it off.

 

It’s something else bothering Bucky, and he stretches briefly before he slips out of bed and pads through the cabin, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Daisy and Sweetpea follow at his heels, both of them yawning and making little doggy noises of discontent. 

 

He has a sixth sense when it comes to Steven Grant Rogers. He always has, ever since they were children. It usually meant that Steve was getting the shit beat out of him, somewhere. 

 

It _still_ usually means Steve is getting the shit beat out of him, though he’s far more adept at holding his own than he used to be. Still doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut, though.

 

Bucky hasn’t felt that in a while. Not since Steve came to Maryland. Came and stayed. He’s not sure he’s feeling it now, but it’s something akin to that, and itch along his skull, along his spine. Something telling him that something is up with Steve, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

 

Steve is standing in the yard, dressed for a jog, wearing those ridiculous tiny little jogging shorts he wears that Bucky always wants to tear right off him. (It’s a good thing Bucky’s usually still asleep when Steve leaves. And usually when he comes back, too.) The cat is in Steve’s arms, her head butted up under his chin. Hooch is leaning hard against Steve’s legs and that’s what worries Bucky the most.

 

He lets the screen door bang shut behind him and crosses the yard, hissing at the cold wet grass between his toes and the chill in the air.

 

“Steve?” He comes up on Steve’s left, the side where the big mastiff isn’t.

 

Steve doesn’t answer him, or even acknowledge him. Or seem to even hear him. He doesn’t even blink.

 

On his other side, the dog whines. 

 

Steve is a million miles away, despite the way his fingers move through the cat’s fur, over and over again.

 

(Her name is Annabelle, because she is all gray, even her eyes, and Steve had been on a Poe kick when she’d shown up. She and Bucky have reached an understanding, between them. The dogs adore her. So does Steve. Traitors, the lot of them.)

 

“Stevie, come on,” Bucky says, gently. He puts his arm around Steve and starts to lead him back to the house, and Steve goes with him, pliant, docile. A sharp whistle over his shoulder is enough to bring Hooch to heel.

 

The other two are in the kitchen waiting, and Annabelle lets Bucky take her out of Steve’s arms and set her on the counter while all three dogs crowd around his legs. She meows at him, disgruntled and possibly even worried about Steve, but she jumps down to join the dogs and they all follow Bucky and Steve through the house and into their room.

Bucky keeps up a monologue as he leads Steve to their room, soothing nonsense for the most part, reassurance that they’re here, and safe, and together, and okay.

 

Steve doesn’t respond to any of it, and Bucky knows what this is, this getting lost in your own head. He used to do it a lot, back at the beginning. He suspects Steve did too, but he wasn’t around for that, and he hates that Steve won’t talk about it, even as he understands because he doesn’t like to talk about it either.

 

So he keeps talking to Steve, reminding him where he is, that he’s not alone. He keeps it up as he strips Steve down to his even tinier boxer briefs ( _Jesus God, Rogers_ ) and tucks him into bed.

 

Bucky hadn’t taken the time to put on anything over his boxers when he’d gotten out of bed, so he takes a moment to try and chafe away some of the predawn chill, jumps a few times to get his blood moving some--maybe it had been the chill that had done this to Steve. He doesn’t react like this, usually. He doesn’t even mind the cold. Not the same way Bucky does, anyway. He doesn’t remember the cold the same way Bucky does.

 

He doesn’t _like_ it, though.

 

But perhaps it triggered this. Maybe Steve will be able to tell him, when he comes back from so deep in his head.

 

Bucky gets another blanket out of the footlocker at the end of their bed and spreads it over Steve, and then climbs back into bed behind him, skin to skin, wrapping himself around Steve. He makes a soft noise and all of the animals invade the bed. They’re not usually allowed (except the cat because _cat_ ), but Bucky will make an exception this time. They need all the warmth they can get. Hooch curls up in front of Steve, making himself small, somehow. The cat curls up with Hooch, and Sweetpea and Daisy settle around Bucky, and the bed feels full and safe with all of them there.

 

“Love you,” he murmurs against Steve’s neck, and Bucky lets himself drift. Selfishly, he allows himself to-- enjoy isn’t the right word for it. But he relishes it all the same, this rare chance to care for Steve, to take care of him, keep him safe. He feels needed, and it’s so rare it takes his breath away.

 

Steve has never _needed_ him. Not the same way Bucky needs Steve, has always needed Steve, for as long as he can remember. Ever since they were children, his whole life has revolved around Steve; he’s always needed Steve’s attention, Steve’s affection. He’s always needed Steve in his life, and life has only ever proven time and again that everything goes straight to shit for Bucky Barnes when Steve Rogers isn’t there. Bucky needs Steve. And Steve has needed him, for a certain value of need. He’s needed Bucky to watch his back, keep his stupid ass from getting killed. But he doesn’t _need_ Bucky, not in the deep and yawning, aching way Bucky has always needed him.

 

Bucky is okay with it. Mostly. He learned to be okay with it a long, long time ago. He has Steve, and Steve loves him, and that’s enough.

 

Steve needs more, though. He needs more than just Bucky. Bucky should know, he knows Steve better than he knows himself. Especially now, here in the future, where Bucky is far more sure of Steve than he is of himself, even now that he has found peace and quiet in the woods, with his ( _their_ ) cabin and the things he makes.

 

Bucky settles himself a bit closer, holds on to Steve a little tighter, and keeps his worry for this unresponsiveness close to his chest, not letting it affect the way he holds Steve. Eventually, he drifts into something resembling sleep.

 

He wakes when Steve stirs against him, shifting and stretching out in Bucky’s arms. Bucky loosens his grip, and Steve turns over. He’s blushing, already, the tips of his ears pink and Bucky makes a tsking noise.

 

“Hi,” Bucky says. He smiles, but he’s pretty sure it sits strained and worried on his face.

 

“Sorry,” Steve mumbles, not meeting his eyes. He shifts, obviously uncomfortable.

 

Bucky doesn’t let him squirm away. He lifts his hand Steve’s face, brushing his thumb across Steve’s cheek, where he’s still blushing. Steve has always blushed at the drop of a hat; Bucky loves it.

 

“Hey, no,” he says. “None of that.”

 

Steve sighs, but he looks at Bucky at least, which is a good sign. “How long?”

 

Bucky lifts his head to glance at the clock on the nightstand. “A few hours, I think?”

 

“I don’t know what happened,” Steve murmurs. He shuts his eyes, and Bucky rubs his thumb across Steve’s cheek again.

 

“Let’s go to New York,” is what comes out of his mouth, though it’s not what he’d meant to say. Bucky isn’t sure what he’d meant to say, really.

 

Now that he’s said it though, it makes perfect sense. They need to go back to New York. Well, Steve does. Bucky doesn’t really want to, at all, but he’ll do whatever it takes to see Steve happy. And Steve needs more than just him.

 

“Buck,” Steve says, slowly. “Are you sure?” There’s that little furrow of worry between his eyes. They one that means he thinks Bucky is lying about something, but isn’t sure where the lie is. He won’t find it this time, not if Bucky has anything to say about it. And he does. And he’ll keep saying it, loudly, until he wears Steve down because this is what Steve needs and Bucky will do whatever it takes to get him that.

 

“Course I’m sure, Rogers. Wouldn’t suggest it if I wasn’t sure.”

 

(He’s not sure at all..)

 

“Okay,” Steve says, still slowly. “Let’s go to New York.”

 

He’s smiling, soft and sleepy, that little smile that only Bucky ever gets to see, and Bucky smiles back, because that’s all he really wants from life: Steve’s happiness and that smile.

 

Bucky sinks into that smile, into the softness of it, that quiet joy, and he stays there. Steve is right there with him, just gazing back at him, and they stay like that for a long time, just looking at each other.

 

“Thank you,” Steve murmurs, eventually, letting his eyes fall shut.

 

“For what?”

 

“For taking care of me,” Steve replies. He opens his eyes and just _looks_ at Bucky for a minute, and Bucky gets that, that he really means this, he really is grateful to Bucky for taking care of him.

 

“I missed that,” he adds, “when you weren’t around, when we weren’t together, before I came down here. I need that sometimes, yanno?”

 

Bucky nods. He understands, because sometimes he needs to be taken care of as well, and he’s far more willing to admit to it now, after all the shit he’s been through. He won’t be ashamed of that, of himself. Not anymore.

 

“Hell, for everything, Buck.” Steve shifts a little closer and lays his hand on Bucky’s face. Bucky turns into the contact, kisses Steve’s palm. “For coming back to me.” 

 

Steve takes a breath, and it shakes a little. He sniffs. There are tears in his eyes, and his breath wavers, and he turns his face into the pillow, hiding.

 

Bucky mirrors him, laying his hand on Steve’s face. “Hey.”

 

Steve turns enough that he can look at Bucky out of the corner of one eye. “Yeah?”

 

“Love you, punk.”

 

They don’t say it much, because they don’t need to. They use their bodies, their hands, their eyes to say it. Everything means ‘I love you’ for them. They don’t need those actual words, not usually, but here Bucky’s said it twice in one morning. 

 

Maybe he needs to hear it more than he’d thought.

 

“Love you too, jerk.”

 

Bucky hauls him in and kisses him then, getting his arms around Steve and shifting, tugging on him until Steve goes where he wants him, which is right on top of him, right where Bucky wants him. Steve squirms a bit, because he’s a little shit, and Bucky gets his hands in Steve’s ridiculous little shorts, on his ass where he wants them, and Steve stills with a soft sigh, just a shade short of a moan.

 

“That ass, though,” Bucky murmurs into their kiss, and Steve laughs against his mouth, giggles a little breathless the way Bucky wants him to, and squirms again, and Bucky squirms right back. 

 

And maybe by the time they’re finished, sweaty and messy, both a little fucked out and breathless with it, Steve’s head tucked in against his neck, they’re both a little watery around the edges, but it’s ok. It’s okay because they both needed this, and Steve was still a little bit stuck in his head, and Bucky knows how to bring him back from that, bring him back into his body and take him utterly to pieces, ground him thoroughly, and they breathe together, and breathe together, and keep breathing together, until both their stomachs start rumbling, and they get up and clean up and go make breakfast and start planning their trip to New York.

 

\----

 

Bucky’s been cagey since they came to New York. He’s unhappy about something, and Steve can’t quite figure it out. Every time he brings it up, or brings up going back home, Bucky brushes him off and changes the subject. Steve can’t get even a crooked answer out of him, let alone a straight one, and it’s driving him up the wall.

 

He knows that something’s up with Bucky, because of the way the dogs are with him. He’d know it anyway, but the way Daisy and Sweetpea stick to his side like they’re tethered to him, glued to his side at every moment of the day just confirms it. Hooch is a little less clingy, but only because he’s lazy as hell and more prone to following Steve than Bucky. He keeps giving Steve these looks though, like he’s asking Steve to figure out what’s wrong and fix it.

 

“I wish I could, buddy,” Steve mutters, giving Hooch his post-walk treat.

 

The others start to notice, eventually. 

 

Well. Natasha notices, eventually, after the first few days, when no one has seen Bucky except rarely and in passing, and Steve has a furrow between his brows every time she encounters him.

 

“What’s going on?” she asks, and Steve appreciates that she’s cornered him on the common floor and hadn’t come up to the floor he’s sharing with Bucky. He’s not sure where Bucky is, exactly, and he’d gone looking for him, hoping to find him with the others.

 

“There’s something up with Bucky,” he admits, and it’s a weight off his chest to say that out loud. “I don’t think he’s happy here.”

 

Natasha looks at him for a moment, and then nods. “No, I don’t think he’s happy in the city anymore. He’s chosen a different life; he doesn’t want to do what the rest of us do.”

 

Steve sighs, and sits. Hooch clambers up on the couch next to him and lays down with his head in Steve’s lap. Steve puts his hand on the dog’s back. He should probably make him get down, but it’s not his couch. They’ve both let the dogs’ training go since coming to New York.

 

Natasha sits down on the table in front of him.

 

Steve looks at her, and smiles a little. “He builds furniture now,” he says, “he’s really good. He’s making us a dining room table. And chairs! He was almost finished when we left.”

 

“And what do you do down there in Maryland?”

 

Steve blushes a little. “I paint. I keep house. It’s nice. I’m learning to bake.”

 

“You like it.”

 

“I do.” Steve shrugs. “He’s all I ever really needed. Everything else is just window-dressing.”

 

Natasha smiles at him, soft, like she’s genuinely happy for him. “Then take him home, Steve. Go be happy. We’ll make do without you. Or else we’ll send a jet when we need you. Maryland’s not that far.”

 

“Thank you, Natasha,” Steve says. 

 

She shrugs off his gratitude. “Honestly we’re all just sick of you moping around here after him like you’re pining for the guy when you’re already involved with him.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“It’s true, Steve. You’ve been pining hard.” She grins at him and stands, patting his shoulder as she goes past him.

 

\----

 

He wakes up alone in their bed on their floor, and it’s the middle of the night. Bucky isn’t with him, isn’t even in the room, and Steve is certain that Bucky had joined him, at least for a little while. The bed is cold beside him, though, so Bucky has also been gone for a while. 

 

Steve gets up and pulls on a t-shirt, because it’s a little bit chilly. He shoos Hooch off the bed, and he pads out of the bedroom and down the hall.

 

Bucky is in the living room, sitting on the floor next to the wall of windows with his knees drawn up to his chest. His hands are clasped around his knees, and he is staring out over the city, at all the lights that never go out. He’s surrounded by Daisy and Sweetpea, both of whom are snoring gently where they sleep.

 

Steve walks quietly over and sits down facing Bucky, drawing his knees up so he can get a little closer. Bucky turns his head and gazes at Steve.

 

“Hey, Stevie,” he murmurs.

 

“Hiya, Buck,” Steve replies. He reaches out and lays his hand over Bucky’s, and Bucky shifts to tangle their fingers together.

 

For a few moments, they’re both quiet. Bucky doesn’t turn his head back to the panorama spread out below them, he just gazes at Steve, his eyes dark and sad, like he’s lost something vital and doesn’t know how to get it back.

 

“What’s wrong, Buck?” Steve asks, eventually, when he can’t stand it anymore. He can’t stand not knowing what’s going on, he can’t stand how much Bucky has drawn away from him, how unhappy he is here even though he won’t even let Steve bring up going home. He keeps insisting he’s fine, even when it’s obvious that he isn’t.

 

“I don’t think I can stay here anymore,” Bucky mumbles in reply. He shuts his eyes and squeezes Steve’s hand, like he can’t bear to let go.

 

“Okay, we’ll leave tomorrow. Buck, why didn’t you say anything?”

 

But Bucky’s lifting his head, shaking it at him vigorously. “No. Steve I can’t do that to you; you should stay here.”

 

Steve’s so shocked he can’t even think for a moment, and he pulls away enough that it tugs on his hand where Bucky’s fingers are still entwined with his.

 

“What’re you saying?” he says, and he hates how much his voice wavers.

 

Bucky shuts his eyes against whatever it is he sees in Steve’s face, and Steve wants to yell at him, wants to shake him, wants to make him see that this could kill him, could tear him asunder.

 

“You can be happy here, Stevie. You need this. You need-- more. More than me.”

 

For a minute, Steve blinks at him, as it sinks in, what Bucky’s saying. What Bucky must think. He wonders what he ever did, to make Bucky think that he wasn’t enough, that Steve could ever need anything other than him.

 

“James Buchanan Barnes, you fucking moron,” he says, and Bucky looks up at him sharply.

 

“Steve, I--”

 

“No, shut up a minute Buck. If you think for one minute that I need anything beyond you, you’re even dumber than I thought.”

 

“Stevie, you don’t.”

 

“Don’t what?”

 

“Don’t need me. Not like I--”

 

“Oh shut the fuck up, Bucky. Come back to bed. We’re going home tomorrow.” Steve stands up, and he pulls Bucky to his feet.

 

“Steve--”

 

Steve kisses him, to quiet him. He doesn’t know any better way to show Bucky how much he’s needed than this, sinking his hands into Bucky’s hair and kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him. Bucky is kissing him back, desperate, and one or both of them is crying, and Steve shushes him, gentle, twines their fingers together, and leads him back to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah. Basically: it's at a good stopping point? I think all I really wanted to do with this was to write them going back to their cabin and maybe even talking a bit and agreeing that they both love each other very much and need each other equally and that they're both idiots.
> 
> And then Steve goes and paints and Bucky goes back to working on remodeling the cabin and building furniture.


End file.
